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acrostic poem

it was the autumn of the year
let us express our baser passions
the snow whispers about me
for these white arms about my neck
a thousand silent years ago
one sweetly solemn thought
therefore i may not
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
have you not heard
i saw the first pear
and with the humming bird
she limps with halting painful pace

 



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